The Couch
by RhondaStar
Summary: Karen/Bill - inside Karen's heard during the early stages of their relationship.


This is supposed to be a funny, sexy look at BK during the early part of their relationship. I like watching the end of Day 5, with her dull outfit and tight hair and the change to Day 6 and wondering just how she got there. I like the end of Day 5 for the way she stares at him and sweeps her tongue around her mouth in a "God i want you" way before leaving - that got me thinking what goes through Karen's head!

I hope you like this - - it is **adult** in places so be warned.

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**The Couch**

The couch was relatively simple. Although given his tastes she hadn't expected anything less. Though there was something about his home which warmed her, the brick fireplace, the little touches, the authenticity of it. He had taste. She knew that too.

She wasn't exactly sure what had happened to her over the past few weeks. A softening of her demeanour. Tough as nails Karen Hayes, ball-breaker, stone-cold, pale faced, never wears make-up, childless, friendless, workaholic; she'd heard the list of insults, of descriptions, they'd buzzed round every office she'd ever worked at.

Hair coming down now, like a bird being set free. Reaching into the back of her wardrobe and retrieving items of clothes she'd bought then never had the guts to wear.

That was a joke. Karen Hayes – gutless wonder – new description.

She listed these things mechanically and watched somewhere, from a distance, as he put his wine glass down on the pale wood table, the red liquid velvet sloshed up the side of the glass and she watched it trickle back down, a drop hanging at the rim wondering whether to spoil his table or return to the river.

Then suddenly her eyes jolted to her feet, he was lifting her left foot up, silently, she looked to his mouth to check he wasn't speaking, she couldn't hear past the buzzing in her ears. He held her foot, slipped it out of the black heel she'd been wearing, she liked wearing heels, they gave her power. Like tight black dresses and uplift bras.

"Do you mind?" He whispered gently. Or did he whisper? She couldn't tell, his voice was like a feather landing on the tip of her nose.

A mindless mush of inconsistent silly, weak, gooeyness was what she'd become and she shook her head like a teenager would at the question. Like Oliver being offered more food.

Her shoe fell into his hand and then down to the floor, closely followed by the right one too and he lifted her feet into his lap, settled against the back of the couch. It was then she noted the colour of it, a deep, dark green, the walls were pale green. If anybody had suggested she paint her apartment pale green she would have slapped them for stupidity. It fit here.

For someone so in control she felt weakness invade every fibre in her body as his strong, supple, wonderful fingers squeezed and stretched her toes, rubbed her heels. Oh God! Her heels were dry, she wasn't one to visit salons, she needed a pedicure, she needed a decent manicure, and a leg wax, not to mention if this went any further… she needed a bikini wax too. Marriage was easy. He didn't notice the growing of hairs or the lack of interest displayed during sex. It was usually dark and quick and relatively mess free. How she liked it.

What if he wanted to have sex? Her stomach flipped at the thought and she felt something she hadn't in many years. A warmth invade her lower belly and slip down between her legs.

She pressed her thighs tighter together.

"….it's a good film though, funny…"

He was speaking. She tore her eyes away from where his fingers fucked her toes and forced herself to focus on his mouth.

"Sorry," she blurted as if she had some kind of speech impediment. The fact was she did, it was the thought of his penis just below her ankles, she lifted them up as high as she possibly could to avoid making contact. She didn't want him to think she was forward.

"I said it's a funny film, you can stay a couple of hours and watch it right, it is Saturday night."

She nodded, tried to smile, shifted her legs a little in his lap just as he sat forward and trapped her calves against his knees.

"Ohh, sorry," he smiled and grabbed his wine glass. "You don't want popcorn I assume, after all that dinner."

She'd love some popcorn, she wasn't one for size zero, skinny bitches, she liked food – why hide that fact?

"No, I'm fine." She muttered.

He must like her curves though; otherwise he wouldn't have asked her out in the first place. Never mind the fact they'd spent almost every free moment together over the past five weeks.

It seemed like forever and yet not long enough.

It had come of something as a shock, the intensity of her feelings.

He was like the part of her she'd never known was missing. She wondered, now, watching him, she wondered if this could be it, that thing people had spoken about and she'd never really grasped. Sure she'd had lust, companionship, intimacy, care… Oh god, where was love? Was this love?

"Are you alright?" He was smiling at her. Wonderfully, glorious. Those eyes.

She fell into them and felt her heart flip out and land in his lap along with her horny toes.

"Have I made you feel awkward?" He gestured to her feet, still being cradled in his ever-competent hands. "It's supposed to relax, I've been learning…"

"It's wonderful." She cut him off. "It feels wonderful. I have to apologise for my unkempt feet though." Now there was the Karen she knew. She was smart. She was attractive. Curves and all. What was it about this man that drove her to the edge of distraction… the edge of seventeen Stevie would have said. Bless Stevie. She wouldn't fear a moment like this surely.

"Good," he reached over and turned the lamp down and she exhaled shakily into the dark.

She tried to watch the movie. Some comedy thing. Some… he was laughing. Her eyes moved back to his face. Watching how his smile worked. How his eyes crinkled. The tilt of his head. The silver hair in the glare of the television light. The back of his neck. How his hand held the wine glass, how his lips caressed it, the movement in his throat as he swallowed.

She'd become an obsessive stalker!

Was it a stalker if the guy invited you out for dinner at one of his favourite jazz spots, plied you with food and drink, danced with you in front of people he knew well, held your hand during the wait for the cab, kissed you outside the club?

Obsessive was right. She was obsessing over everything single thing with him. That wasn't right. And yet she was so comfortable with him.

She hadn't danced in years. And yet the dress she'd worn virtually called out for it. He'd said Jazz Club and her mind had frozen with sheer boredom at the prospect of cocktail drinkers, cigars, old men glaring at a woman in a tight sparkly dress as she took forever to sing a syllable. How wrong she'd been.

It had been their best date yet. He was different in the club. Not scary different, more him, she learned more of him and was thankful for the fact he'd let her into that part of his life. He obviously went there often, they knew his name.

Her dress was black. She liked black. But it fitted tight in the upper body, supported her aging breasts, showed off her – as yet – flat stomach and then the skirt swam out at the waist hiding her hips and the fact her ass was growing. It felt elegant when she walked, and when she moved too fast it spun around her legs like silk.

She imagined him between her legs, his skin like silk.

She choked on her wine, sat forward and rather ungraciously coughed.

"Hey," he sat forward too, his hand reaching for hers.

"I'm fine, drank it at a funny angle."

She replaced the wine glass on the table behind her. Funny angle indeed. Lying on his couch like some welcome guest. Like somebody who'd known him for five years not weeks. How did she get into this position?

Oh yes, his foot massage. The god that he was he knew such tricks as foot massages. How to make great cookies and put together an impromptu cookie/coffee picnic on the patch of grass that passed as a park near her office.

He was stealing her heart. That was it. Some well timed, well thought out schemes carefully fixated on her until she gave in.

As he licked the wine off his lips she felt like screaming, 'Have me, I'm right here, take me and no need for anymore wining and dining.' Slut that she was. Funny thing was there had been nobody in the physical regard since the end of her marriage.

The fact she still wore her wedding ring after the collapse of a seven year marriage was something of an anti-men warding off charm. It meant little now, the significance of it was simply that it reminded her she had failed at something. She'd taken it off the day after he'd proposed breakfast.

His fingers trailed over her foot and up over her shin, absently, tickling, straying, moving for more? She couldn't be sure. The thumping in her chest had increased to such a rate she could no longer hear her brain ticking.

She wanted him to kiss her. Longed for it. But if she moved in now would it be too forward? Besides she couldn't lean forward far enough to engage him in a kiss, her legs were trapped on his lap and she couldn't bend herself in half, she'd never done yoga in her life!

He cleared the back of his throat as if to say something and she waited, ears pricked like a cat listening for prey. He didn't, his fingers continued tickling her skin and the heat between her thighs increased.

She wouldn't have sex with him anyhow. It had only been… she counted… this was their eighth date. Eight dates in five weeks! She was in luck! He really did want her! Maybe she would have sex with him. If he asked nicely.

Wondering what he was like in bed she lifted her leg a little, and his hand slipped around it kneading the muscle, stroking her stocking covered ankle. Big, small? Fast, slow? Considerate or in a rush? Considerate – definitely – the way he paid attention to her leg.

She wanted him now. All over her.

"I, erm…" she lifted her legs out of his reach, tucked them back beneath her as she sat up, "I need the bathroom." As she leant forward, embarrassed, her hair fell in front of her face; thank the heavens for it, covering her red cheeks as she stumbled off the couch and out of the room.

When she returned his arm was splayed across the back of the couch, the white t-shirt he wore pulled taut across his chest emphasising every single fabulous part. When she'd left the room he'd been in a shirt.

She took it as a sign and almost hopped back onto the couch, this time sitting beside him. He grinned at her, "You missed the best part."

"Oh dear," she whispered.

She curled her legs up beside her, reached for the cushion she'd previously leant on to prop behind her and her hair dropped again, his fingers caught it, the lock of blonde sunlight, and he brought it back, sliding through his fingers, staring at her with such intensity.

Of course she melted into him.

Or he melted into her.

She wasn't sure. The way he'd looked at her as if he'd never seen a woman before.

And their mouths touched so delicately at first. Nervously. Although they'd kissed before it had always been on a doorstep or outdoors to say goodbye or hello or just… here, alone, in the dark, on the simple couch where he'd probably had a hundred women naked and on their backs.

Don't think of such things Karen! She chided herself, he murmured something and she felt his mouth open to hers, lips probing and urging and warm and soft and firm all at the same time.

The arm that had lain so innocently over the back of the couch now sliding to her shoulders, holding her to him. Her own mouth, relaxing, lips parting to his, a soft gentle caress, nothing forced or frantic, just simple… like testing the waters.

She brought her arm up around his back, fingers tracing the contours through the fabric of his t-shirt. The heat from his skin. He'd turned, his legs too now trying to get on the couch, their knees bumped.

He moaned something again and she found herself loving the sound of it. A deep husky throb in the back of his throat. Both arms were around her now, pressing her into him, her breasts tight against his chest, fingers tangling in her hair.

She flicked her tongue out, surprising herself at her forthrightness; it was his fault, turning her on, the whole foot thing. He responded, his tongue meeting hers, a flash of white heat as they connected.

He lay her back on the couch as softly as a leaf floats down from a tree.

Oh glorious couch! Her head was swimming. 'Take me, take me, I'm sorry I haven't shaved.'

But this wasn't going to be full sex, just playing, fondling, exploring. Not full sex. She wasn't ready. He wasn't, surely… he's a man, ready anytime. Maybe she was too, maybe, if he had condoms, if he produced them from his pocket he'd had this planned all along. She convinced herself of that.

His heart was hammering in his chest; she felt it against her arm as he covered her face in kisses.

What if he was genuine? What if this was the start… it wasn't the start, who the hell was she kidding? It had started from the moment he'd smiled at her on that day, earlier, from the moment she'd walked into the building and saw his beautiful face, long ignored in past meetings.

Now, with his hands striving to get inside her dress, she wondered why she'd waited an entire week before taking him up on his offer.

It had been a simple phone call, a polite enquiry as to how things were going with the search for Jack. Grateful for her words of encouragement higher up the chain of command he'd offered to buy her a drink, this time she didn't refuse.

Four drinks later they'd been walking in the midnight air, staring at the stars in the clear dark night and reflecting on how such beauty was ignored.

The following day he'd called and asked her out for dinner, she managed an extended lunch because she was flying over to DC that night. Three days later he'd picked her up from the airport and taken her to the movies and she'd contemplated groping him on the back row. Instead she fell asleep on his shoulder and he'd bought her a burger from the drive-thru on the way home. They'd eaten standing up in her kitchen with wine straight from the fridge and shared a lingering kiss on the doorstep before he left.

"Oh god," she gasped as his hand got inside her dress and closed over her breast, thank heavens she'd worn the lacy bra.

"I want you," he whispered by her ear before his mouth trailed down her neck.

Joy radiated from her.

She lifted her leg, wrapping it over his, awkward at first as they manoeuvred on the couch. Her skirt falling aside, the roughness of his jeans against her, the pressure of his belt in her stomach.

Her fingers pushed up the t-shirt, eager frantic, to feel him as he did her. And he stopped kissing her to lift himself up; stroking her face with some kind of reverence she wasn't used to.

"Do you want this?" He asked gently.

"Yes," the words were out before her brain kicked in. "Yes…" softer this time, with love.

He caught on, dropped his mouth down to hers and kissed her firmly. "It's been a while," he breathed shakily, "if I fumble…"

She giggled and he looked shocked at first then smiled too sitting up and drawing his t-shirt up his chest, it caught on his watch and she had to pull it loose.

"Not like this in the movies," he mocked as he threw it aside.

"I like it like this," she added stroking his chest for the first time in her life.

"Do you? I mean…" he was like a teenager and it made her want him more. "Do you have?"

She shook her head, biting down on her bottom lip and he stroked her cheek. "Upstairs maybe I do."

"I like it here." She nipped his thumb.

"So do I."

He disappeared; she heard hit footfalls on the stairs, two at a time. Her eyes shifted to he television, the flashing colours, the starkness to how she felt right now. Warm and fuzzy and smudged at the edges.

She reached for the remote and switched it off sending the room into virtual darkness. Dragging herself up she moved to where a lamp stood and switched it on, dimming it just to the right level. On her way back to the couch she decided it was wise to remove her stockings and was in the process of doing so, one foot on the couch as she rolled them down her thigh, when he returned and almost died in the doorway.

"Oh shit," he gasped, caught his breath, and she put her leg down embarrassed. "No, don't stop, I've…" he stepped forward hesitantly, "I've been dreaming about your legs for weeks."

"You have?"

"Haven't you noticed me staring?"

"To be honest I've been so concerned, pre-occupied with trying to work out whether you liked me or not and where this was going…"

"Liked?" he shook his head, an odd smile on his mouth as he moved beside her, a hand on her lower back. "More than like Karen."

"I'm getting old," she added with a shrug, "Things aren't in the same place as they were twenty years ago."

"I'm older, and you look amazing."

"So do you," her hands on his chest again, words stumbling out. "I mean goodness you could have any woman, boyish charm and good looks."

"I want you."

"And I'm amazed by that."

"You're so beautiful."

Her hand slid down his arm to hold his, finding the small packets smuggled in his fist, she took them from him and dropped them onto the coffee table.

"We're old enough to know better," she pressed her mouth to his and in a second was back on the couch, one stocking off, one on.

When she'd stripped him of his jeans, had her dress thrown across the room and her bra daintily dropped to the floor she knew this was the last man she'd ever sleep with.

She was panting and trying to hide it as his fingers slipped inside her panties and slid them over her thighs, his mouth there, his tongue. And somehow she didn't find it awkward to reach down and grasp his erection, despite her earlier fears of lovemaking; it seemed the most natural act to touch him and hold him and guide him inside her.

She wanted to tell him she was in love but feared it was too soon.

He groaned the words when their bodies joined and she gave him her heart.

Two hours later, giggling, flushed, and silly with orgasms he'd swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs to – what would become – their bed.

Karen was wrong. The couch had never seen anything like it before. But it got used to such displays of affection.

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